Domestics
by Seppuku Doll
Summary: Kakashi wakes up in an unfamiliar room to unfamiliar feelings. A songfic to The Recluse by Cursive. A nice break from the smut. KakaSaku


A/N: A break from the smut to write fluff. Yay! Written to The Recluse by Cursive  
  
**I wake alone  
In a woman's room I hardly know  
I wake alone  
Pretend that I am finally home.**  
  
Kakashi awoke to the sight of clean white linens and fluffy pink pillows that were most decidedly not his. A pounding headache thrummed at his temples, deteriorating all comprehensible thoughts. For a wild moment, he imagined himself in his own bed in his own apartment, until he realized just how much cleaner the air smelled and just how much nicer the sheets were. He rolled over lazily, body too heavy and stomach too queasy to do much else.   
  
His eyes met a picture of Team 7 (identical to the one on his window) on the cherry wood night stand beside him, and immediately it was apparent in who's room he was staying. He should've known from the moment he smelled the cherry blossom fragrance lightly scenting the pillow beside him.  
  
It was comfortable here, in these downy covers, even though his lean form was throbbing with the effects of a very bad hangover. In the foggy depths of his brain, it suddenly occurred to him that there could only be so many reasons why he was waking up in the bed of eighteen-year-old Haruno Sakura.  
  
He thanked God she was legal.  
  
**The room is littered with books  
And more books, I imagine what they say...**  
  
Collecting all the strength in his vodka-doused muscles, he sat up on the too-soft mattress, both eyes squinting as rays of sunlight splashed in through the opened blinds. The memories of the night before rushed through him like the blood to his head, and guiltily he licked his cracked lips. Pleasant taste, pleasant memories.  
  
He allowed himself to briefly survey the girlish room. Clothes--his clothes and hers--were strewn about the floor, random buttons accenting the multi-colored mess. Black against red. It sort of looked nice. Suddenly, he thought about what it would be like to have it like this every night, without the hangover, but with this same feeling of waking up somewhere nice and soft and the flavor of another person on his tongue.  
  
Not just any person either.  
  
**"Shoo fly, don't bother me."**  
  
He had to leave.  
  
These thoughts were dangerous, absurd. He would not lie--ever since Sakura had developed the curves she had now at fourteen, he had had fantasies, like any red-blooded male. Especially on the lonelier nights, when he had no company but his hand and his darling little book, it was so easy to fall into those little reveries, no matter how wrong or how innocent. She was eighteen now, technically an adult, but he could not let her entertain any ideas of _them_. He could die at any time, being a jounin. Even though he was no longer in ANBU, he still had his share of dangerous missions.  
  
He closed his eyes, trying to clear out the buzzing in his ears and the recollections of warm skin and whispered words. It was only worsening his headache. Outside the door of the quaint, plain little room, he could hear bustling and cabinets closing. Even those common noises stirred a sense of comfort in him that he couldn't explain.  
  
**I can't even get myself out of the bed  
For fear of never lying in this bed again.**  
Perhaps he could stay here awhile longer, deep in the warm recesses of this room. Besides, it wasn't as if he could just march out, fully dressed, and say he was leaving. Though it was a very probable and good solution to his current predicament, it was also the most hurtful one. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he hurt her like _he_ did.  
  
Sasuke was long gone now, dead from his injuries after finally defeating Itachi. Before he left on that fateful journey, he had successfully impregnated Sakura at sixteen. The bastard died of blood loss long before he could come home and console the poor girl after the miscarriage. The Uchiha bloodline was just as dead as the young genius who sought so hard and long to protect it, but for some perverse reason, he was glad for it.  
  
Sasuke couldn't give her what she deserved. No one could.  
  
**Oh christ, I'm not that desperate...  
Oh no. Oh God.  
I am.**  
  
He sank his body back into the bed's embrace, feeling like the child he had never been. He was fascinated by the faint scent of the sheets, the pink strands of hair found near the pillows, even the clothes that laid on the floor.  
  
There was no choice. If he were to save the girl from the greatest amount of hurt, then he would leave later. They would talk about it, realize it was a mistake, and then go on their merry ways.  
  
But he wasn't saving her from hurt. He was saving himself.  
  
**How did I get here to begin with?  
I don't know.  
Why do I start what I can't finish?**  
He smiled softly, remembering a great deal of the words spoken the night before.  
  
_"I want you..."  
  
"I want you too...."  
  
"I've been dreaming about this for so long."_   
  
Strangely enough, the last phrase came from her lips, not his own. They were celebrating Naruto's acceptance into ANBU, and they had been playing an innocent drinking game. Eventually, everyone either passed out or dropped out, leaving the two of them to face off on another round of shots. She had a better tolerance than he had imagined.   
  
_"If I win, you come to my apartment."   
  
"Alright. If I win, you come to mine."_   
  
It wasn't important who started the bet, what was important was how it finished. It was easy to tell himself that he had let her win so he could escort her safely home and leave when she passed out, but she didn't pass out. She seduced him.   
  
**Oh please don't barrage me with the questions  
To all these lovely answers.  
My ego's like my stomach:  
It keeps shitting when I feed it.**  
  
An uncountable number of shots and years of guilty wanting had weakened his will, but it was no excuse for taking advantage of her like that. Or maybe she'd taken advantage of him. It was a strange thing to admit, but he was in a vulnerable spot, drunk as he was and she was looking for a rebound from the death of a lover.  
  
So he was a rebound.  
  
Still, the idea of her being some great seductress was unfathomable, unthinkable. She was innocent, sweet, prudent. Well, that was his impression until last night, before the exchange of heated words and interlacing limbs. He could see her, wide-eyed, wondering "where do we stand now?" and "did I mean anything?" He could see that because that was what he had done to women so many times before: left with them drunk or sober and left them asking "what next?" only for there to be no "next."  
  
So now, to be on the other end of the spectrum.... He could understand what those girls felt now. Because he wanted to know where they stood too, he wanted to know if he meant anything, and he wanted, hoped for a "next," for a future.  
  
**Maybe I don't wanna finish anything anymore.  
Maybe I can wait until she comes home and whispers...**  
  
His eyes fell to the door as it opened slowly and quietly. Sakura leaned against the door jamb, a fluffy white robe tied loosely around her hips, shoulder-length pink hair in an enchanting disarray, green eyes soft and sleepy. A white mug steamed in her hands as she walked toward him, setting it on the night stand before shrugging off the robe. He forgot his damaged pride as his eyes fell across her form illuminated in the morning light, the sun dancing across the shapely contours of her body. The taste of coffee still lingered on her lips.  
  
**"You're in my web now."**  
  
He forgot everything in her arms.  
  
**"I've come to wrap you up tight 'til it's time to bite down."**  
  



End file.
